


Just Between the Two of Us

by royal_chandler



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Imported, LiveJournal, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2923541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royal_chandler/pseuds/royal_chandler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five random kisses between Chris and Karl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Between the Two of Us

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted January 3, 2010. Switches POV between kisses because 18 yr. old me had no clue as to what she was doing.

Chris’ back collides with the slick tiles, makes a wet and noisy slide as Karl thrusts up into him. The urgency behind it is rough and the only thing that keeps Chris’ head from cracking open on the ceramic is the strong hand cradling his neck.

He shifts a leg higher on Karl’s hip, pushes a calf against the firm backside, urging the man to go deeper. Chris isn’t fragile and wants to be able to feel this for a good long while after they turn off the pipes. “Fuck yes, baby, harder.”

Karl’s upstroke hits his prostate and it’s like someone’s snapped on a Lite-Brite behind his eyes, supernovas and fireballs. “Holy motherfucking shit. Right there, baby. Oh, fuck, _Karl_. So fucking good.”

Karl punctuates his hips again and Chris swears that he heard the echoing of bones somewhere below him. There’s a groan of pain and he opens his mouth to ask if Karl’s alright.

Turns out that Karl’s absolutely fine because he’s crushing his lips against Chris’ hard enough to bruise them all the colors of the rainbow, actually draws a violent red when he teethes at Chris’ bottom lip.

The spray from the shower head rinses the metallic flavor out of Chris’ mouth while he moans in perfect heat, “Fuck, Karl…”

*

“Chris! Have you seen my cufflinks?”

Karl usually doesn’t bother with the blasted jewelry, finds them to be an annoyance on any occasion that they’re called for. And that’s because they’re fucking tiny as hell and he can never find them. If it was any other night, he would say ‘fuck it’ after giving the search five minutes of his time that it didn’t deserve but it’s America’s Thanksgiving. Doesn’t mean shit to him really but two weeks ago Chris had done that pout with his lips before turning it into a vice-grip ring around Karl's cock. So later when they had been curled into one another post-coital, of course, Karl had said yes to having dinner with Chris’ parents. Although, there had been much sputtering and a possible asthma attack while Chris had gone to tie off the rubber.

Chris had told him that it wasn’t a big deal, that he had also invited Zach, Zoe and John. But was Chris fucking Zach, Zoe and John? No. So they didn’t have a problem introducing themselves to Chris’ parents. What the hell was Karl supposed to say? ‘Good evening, Mrs. Pine. I’m Karl and I pulverize your son’s ass on a nightly basis’?

He rummages through his drawers and pushes his underwear aside, places a pair of boxer shorts into Chris’ drawer where they belong. “Pine!”

Still, Karl doesn’t get a response so he heads to the adjoining bathroom, stops short when he spots Chris singing Dean Martin, towel wrapped around his waist. The green gummy headphones in his ears explain his inability to answer Karl’s question. Only Chris would have music plugged in his ears while naked.

Leaning on the threshold, Karl admires Chris’ baritone among other things. The kid’s got a pretty decent voice, close your eyes and you could be fooled into thinking that he was the real deal. Karl has no intention of telling him that though, his head wouldn’t be able to fit into the apartment. Give Chris a compliment and he’s bound to ask for a damn manifesto. He lets Chris get to a third refrain before he makes his presence known. Chris is unaware but the tone induces hard-ons and if they have any intention to be on time, Karl can’t listen to anymore.

Wrapping his arms around Chris’ damp middle, Karl tugs him close and places a kiss to his shoulder, cranes his neck to start an assault on his mouth. He pulls back and runs a thumb on Chris’ newly swollen lip. “Gotta cut the show off early tonight, Pine. Need your help to find my cufflinks.”

Chris rolls his eyes but points out the pair of silver in the medicine cabinet anyway. Apparently, Karl had put them there three months ago after the world premiere party for safekeeping.

Who would’ve thought?

He kisses Chris again in thanks, yanks on his towel for the simple sport of things.

*

It’s only for two months. Eight weeks. Sixty days. Chris can handle that. Hell, he went twenty-six years without Karl—albeit that was before he knew sexy wonderful, before he fell in love and cocooned there—what was another two months?

It’d be okay. Seriously.

Two months without elbowing to get more covers. He’d get the bed all to himself. There’d be no one telling him not to leave his shoes by the door, no one to take his phone off of the shelf above the washer, making him think that he’d lost it. He’d have no reason to put the purifier on the tap in the morning, no reason to print off the latest edition of the New Zealand Herald, and no reason to set the thermostat four degrees higher than where he preferred it.

Life would be a fucking peach because he’s Chris Pine dammit and he doesn’t need domesticity. He doesn’t need a walking partner to get coffee with, especially a walking partner who complains that ‘frilly, sugar caffeine isn’t really coffee’ when it most definitely is. Jesus, not everyone likes stuff that tastes like the bottom of a fucking toaster oven.

Plus, he’s got a bookcase filled with Dickens, Wilde, Wordsworth and Auden—plenty of gentlemen who have more to say than Karl Urban does. Although, they don’t talk in a thick, low accent. They also don’t spoon with him at night. They’re okay with romance but they don’t kiss each one of his fingers before going to bed. They don’t blind him with smiles that make him melt to the ground and soar to the stratosphere, caught in every imaginable limbo. He can’t fuck into book leafs (okay, he _could_ ) and feel at home.

And honestly Karl makes the _best_ French toast, even gives Chris a side of grilled bananas.

“Do you have to go?”

He’s not whining. That would be childish and reminiscent of bowl cut-Chris Pine.

Chris is just making sure that he heard correctly the previous ten times.

“Yes,” Karl tells him, grabs his duffel from one of the waiting area’s hard plastic chairs. “I told Natalie that I would be there for the first part of the boys’ summer break, Chris. It’s only two months.”

Karl is giving him that look, the one that is incredibly sorry and Chris feels like incredible shit. He knows that it’s not Karl’s fault and there’s not much they can do rather than go with what life throws at them. There’s a good numbers of lows on the wild ride but the highs are like no other—somehow always worth that steadfast fall. At the end of the day, it really doesn't matter as long as Karl is with him. He’d be overseas but he’s still Chris’. It has been worse. Plus Karl's kids deserve more time with their dad. “I know. I’m sorry.” He smiles tightly. “Just being clingy.”

“I sprayed some of the shirts I left with my cologne. That should hold you over. If it doesn’t though…I did leave some toys in the nightstand,” Karl says with a small laugh that both clenches Chris' heart and puts his hectic mind at ease. 

“Man, you wish.” Chris pushes up his shades before surveying the space around them. Finding the coast to be clear, he lowers his voice, “You’ll call me as soon as you land?”

“Pine, there’s no one else I’d rather keep me on a leash.” It’s affectionate, teasing and all Karl. “Now, come here and kiss me goodbye.”

It’s not like the kisses you see in the movies. They don’t meet in the middle because Chris is the one who does the most leaning. Also, it’s real and true and it hurts a hell of a lot more.

*

It’s already been decided that Chris is going to go out and buy a revolver when Karl enters through the door.

Chris gazes up from the tissues that surround his congested head, drawls out, “Kaaarrrlll.”

However, he’s stuffed up to the crown of his head so it sounds more like “Kahhgghh…” The curse that comes after it is ironically comprehensible, however. Chris sniffs loudly before declaring, “I’m going to buy a gun but I’m not brave enough to finish the job. Will you do it for me? I’m willing to leave a note that explains your innocence—don’t want to put a father in jail after all.”

“That’s nice,” Karl responds with a snort, taking a seat on the arm of the chair in which Chris is seated. “So I’m guessing that you don’t feel any better?”

“I sound like fucking Fran Drescher! What do you think?” Chris exclaims, flails his arms and scatters dirty Kleenexes onto the floor. “Ugh, forget the note. Your ex-wife is nicer than you, anyway.”

Karl feigns being wounded. “Ouch, Pine.”

Clear nasals passages elude Chris but eyerolls don't. “I'm the sick person here. Did you get the stuff?”

He makes it sound as if Karl went out to get a bag of cocaine from a dealer named Joey Two-Whiskers rather than brand-name cough syrup.

Karl shows him the pharmacy bag, shakes it like a piñata filled with candy. “Yep, grape flavored per request.”

“I love you,” Chris says. He coughs a bit but that doesn’t make it any less honest.

“You’d better,” Karl replies, pulls out the medicine from the bag. “Aren’t you embarrassed to be taking children’s medicine? The woman behind the counter asked me how my _child_ was doing with his cold. I think that she was a psychic or a seer to be able to conclude such an accurate description of you.”

“It works just as well as the adult crap. Fuck you.”

“Once the contagious period is over.”

Chris starts to hack then and Karl rubs at his back, reassuring circles. His throat feels raw and phlegm runs along it in disgusting amounts. He coughs, tries not to think about the pain it causes to his lungs. When the episode is over, he looks at the older man apologetically.

Karl seems to lose his need for endless banter and presses his lips to Chris’ extremely sore nose, gentle and sweet. “Take this, then I’ll make you some soup, alright?”

*

Today they’re Jim and Bones, at least they’re supposed to be but Chris and Karl can’t keep their shit together. At all. JJ’s going on about how they should try not to give the Captain and the CMO subtext. To Chris and Karl, it’s the funniest thing in the history of the world.

So they’re in Room 143B of the studio aka timeout attempting to make their interpretations of the script less gay and more about camaraderie. They laugh for about five minutes after they shut the door behind them but eventually meet together breathlessly, the corner of the table in the room digging into the backs of Karl’s thighs, Chris in between them.

Chris shifts his hands on Karl’s shirt, bunches the material absentmindedly. “Do you think that JJ’s a closeted Spork fan?”

“Spork?” Karl visibly winces. “I hate those fucking name combinations.” He pauses for a moment, shrugs because he hasn’t the vaguest. “I don’t know. You believe so?”

“Fuck yeah. I mean having Kirk and Spock stranded together in a cave again while the rest of the team is safe on the Enterprise? Stinks of plot point if you ask me.” Chris pulls on the shirt with interest now, raises it just above the trail on Karl’s stomach.

Karl furrows his eyebrows. “Do you want to get fired?”

Chris regards him as if he has three penises—an expression of high amusement and naughty intentions. “I can’t be fired. I’m the star. Captain James T. Kirk.” Karl exhales a dramatic sigh. It’s not the first time he’s heard that one. “Come on, Karl. Jim and Bones is where it’s at.”

Reaching around to take a hold of Chris’ ass, he squeezes while prompting the question, “You don’t think that you’re being biased?”

Chris knits their hips closer together and starts to undo the bottom half of Karl’s costume. “Nope but you’re the one who watched the original series, you should know better than me. Any unresolved sexual tension?”

“Jim and Bones are fictional characters. That’s weird, Pine. I don’t fucking think about that shit,” Karl growls, nips at the stretch of Chris’ neck but not hard enough to leave anything behind. “But I do know that there’s none between us so I’d advise you to get your hands out of my pants. There’s no way I’m explaining to JJ why there’s spunk on the CMO’s trousers.”

Chris only takes that as encouragement, starts to push down the said pants along with boxer briefs. “Who says that you need to have your pants on? Although my clean-up job is excellent if I do say so myself.”

“Go on and prove it then,” Karl demands in a low voiced, gives the fuck up on deterring Chris’ plans. Hard-headedness is an attribute that Kirk and Chris share, there’s no point in trying to stop them once they have the determination to go after what they want. Selfishly, Karl doesn’t mind it much in this case.

Sinking to his knees, Chris takes Karl into his mouth without hesitation and starts a suction.

“Please tell me that you locked the door?”

Chris just nods and continues to suck. A while later, he pulls off to circle the pink head with his tongue. He stops to tell Karl, “Had this planned from the moment JJ kicked us off set, Karl.”

“Asshole,” Karl moans, reaches over Chris’ head, welcomes the short hair under his palms. “And please, no talking about JJ while my dick is in your mouth.”

“No argument here,” Chris agrees before he goes back to Karl’s dick, starts to bob his head.

There’s nothing like the inside of Chris’ mouth, it’s unbelievably hot and Karl is always guaranteed to get hard in a few minutes, brought to the edge faster than a teenage boy. And right now he sees that mountain, climbs it until it disappears and the cliffside is all that’s left. “Fuck, Chris. I’m close.”

Chris just keeps on and Karl just goes for broke. When Chris doesn’t back off that means that he wants it harder and no holding back. Karl’s more than happy to oblige.

Karl grips at Chris with more strength and watches in pure lust as his dick disappears past full lips and comes back out before going in again, “Dammit, Pine…”

There’s a twitch in Chris’ face and his lashes flutter against the top of his cheekbones and the sight is too much for Karl to take. He shakes as he quivers in Chris Pine, leaks his come down the inviting throat. “Holy fuck.”

Chris pulls off and kisses the softening dick, lips glazed with indecency.

“Subtext it is.” Karl heaves him up and licks past the seam of his mouth.


End file.
